Time and Allies
by NightWolf0013
Summary: Geralt knows that he dreams of Ciri when she is in danger. Why did he not act on any of the other hints within his dreams? A Witcher 3 AU reviewing what may have happened if Geralt had taken the Time to gather more Allies. Rated for current state and the potential for blood, and gore.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here is my jab at the Witcher fandom. I tried to get a couple of different POVs going, as well as present an idea of mine. Read, Review, and please enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to, or resembling the Witcher franchise, or anything else you may recognize. I make no money off this story. Intellectual rights of the above belong to Andrzej Sapkowski.**

* * *

"Vesemir, something occurred to me this morning."

The spry, quick-witted old man sitting at the table before me paused, drink halfway to his lips. "Oh?" he said, "Is this about Ciri? Or perhaps about your seeming shift in fascination back from redheaded furies to raven-haired beauties?"

"Ciri," I stated, ignoring the jab. "I wanted to think about it a little more before I mentioned this, get my thoughts together." Sitting down, I continued to explain, "When I dream of Ciri, I mentioned it can be prophetic; that it usually means more than a simple dream. My thought, what occurred to me, is what if these dreams tell more than I think they do?"

The Old Wolf paused for a moment, staring into his drink. Then he cursed, and finished it off. "If that is the case, then it implies a number of things: most significantly a showdown between you and the Wild Hunt over Ciri."

Putting his empty mug down, he leaned toward me across the table, as though to convey a secret of utmost importance, despite our lack of need for such things: I could have heard his cautious whispers from the other side of the tavern.

"If you plan to have this showdown at Kaer Morhen, then we will need two things: time, and allies. I don't have many I would trust with something like this, and I doubt all of us together can call up enough aid to stop the Red Riders."

I let my skepticism show. "Why would we assume that this will happen the way I dreamt it? If it happ-"

"Don't be a fool, Geralt. I've read the records of your Trials. No one alive actually knows what those extra mutations did to you. What we do know is that you lost pigmentation, grew even more resistant to poisons and magic, and that in the middle of it all you called out to Yenneffer, clearly, and with desperation."

"What?" I'm shocked. I do not remember much of my time in the Trial of the Grasses. Nor of the additional experiments afterwards. Mostly, I remember pain. I didn't even know there were surviving records after the sack of Kaer Morhen.

Clearly however, my confusion showed and was enough to give Vesemir pause, leaning back in surprise. "You didn't know? I always thought-," he pauses, some comprehension dawning in his mind. shaking his head, he continues, "Never mind. I will show you the records next time we are in Kaer Morhen." Regaining his resolve, he leans forward again, speaking even quieter than before. "What matters now is that you have shown evidence of foresight in the past, and discarding your instincts and dreams would be a foolish decision for either of us."

"Then what do you suggest? We have damned few allies, and no idea of timing to ready ourselves."

"But we do have signs to give us warning, and a goal to work towards." There is a strange light in the Old Wolf's yellow eyes. A light I have not seen in years. "Ciri and the Wild Hunt drawing closer to you. The moment you hear about our wayward witcheress, you send me word, and I will know that time is short. From that point, you must make efforts to secure her safety from the Wild Hunt, and to buy us time before the battle at Kaer Morhen."

A battle? Already? In a ruined keep? "I think we are getting ahead of ourselves here." I found myself leaning forward, an energy gripping me. "First, as you said, we taught her to defend herself from anything. I doubt she will want us to wrap her in blankets, and hide her away." Especially not if she had ever experienced what I did now: the thrill of hunting an exceptionally dangerous foe. "Second, Kaer Morhen? I love my home too, but it has been decades since we could have used it to hold off a siege of any true strength. And Eredin will surely come in strength, if he comes at all."

The energy I felt was clearly reflected in the Old Wolf's smirk. "That is why we need time. Time to gather allies: everything from warriors, to mages, to carpenters."

"Carpenters?"

"We are not planning a single battle here, but a war. Success will be measured not in a victory, but in endurance. I have spent decades lamenting the state of Kaer Morhen, compiling all that would be needed to make her proud again. Not the least of which is the services of a number of craftsmen, of differing trades, and all exceptional."

The Old Wolf pauses, considering something. "I know a few that have expressed a willingness to help in the past. All for prices that would only make sense if we were going to rebuild the keep in its entirety, and rebuild the School."

"Which is something none of us truly want to do." Not if it meant using the Trial again.

"Mmhmm. But if we plan to defend against a foe of some magnitude, and are going to do so in defense of one of our own..."

"Then the price is no longer as exorbitant. Meaning we may afford to hire out craftsmen and workers to rebuild the keep."

Vesemir smiled. "Exactly. But that is a matter for another time. First we must find such craftsmen that might be willing to join with us."

It was my turn to smile. "Actually, there may be one in town. A dwarf whose forge was burned down by a former customer of his. And the Nilfgardians don't pay him all that well either."

"Now you're getting it. But let's not get put the contract before the blade. We first need something resembling a time table, and an outside confirmation. We can't just put this man's life on hold for a few decades because we might have a wraith problem. Yenneffer first. Then we can start gathering information on this clash. Get ourselves a proper timetable for resources and craftsmen."

"About that, I spoke with the Nilfgardian Commander here. Says he knows which way she went, but..."

"...First he wants us to kill the Griffin for him." He nodded sagely. "What else could he want from two witchers? Come on. What do you know?"

My smile faded as I returned to business. "Still need to investigate its lair, out in the Vulpine Woods. Picked up the buckthorn already. The local herbalist, one Tomira, pointed me towards a riverbed that had plenty."

Vesemir sniffed at the air, likely scenting the herb through the sealed and soaked leather sack I had used to prevent the stench of buckthorn from spreading far, "Powerful scent. Ought to work like a charm"

"More like stench."

My disgust must have shown, because the Old Wolf regained his grin with a slight mock to it. "City boy. Rot, piss, manure. Standard smells of the countryside." The Old Wolf's smile turned nostalgic. "You remember hunting for that that Zeugel? Waist deep in the sewers? You spent half the next day bathing! Scrubbing yourself!"

"Uh-huh. You ever gonna stop bringing that up?"

"Hmmph. Not likely. You go check out the lair. I'll start looking for a place to ambush this Griffin. Meet back here when we're done."

* * *

"After we find Yenneffer, got your eye on a contract?"

I pause, regarding the scarred Wolf beside me, his white hair clearly visible in the early morning light. We were crouched in a field outside White Orchard, this small town a day's ride from Vizima and well within territory held by Emperor Emhyr. Hopefully this Griffin contract would be a strong step towards solidifying our reputation as honorable, neutral professionals in Nilfgard's minds. Not the easiest thing to do when we all take violations of our code, and threats to our own very seriously.

Taking a moment, I think about our discussion earlier. I had never bought into prophecy: too many variables, and not enough facts. But I did trust my instincts, and my instincts said to heed Geralt's concern. Prophecies were wrong all the time. However, I could not recall a time, even in my extended years, when a witcher's instincts had been wrong. "In a sense. Earlier we discussed rebuilding Kaer Morhen. I'll dispatch letters to the contacts that I can trust to keep their mouths shut, and go there to begin my winter early." I glance away from the White Wolf, back towards the bait. "That said, I have some advice for anyone you send our way."

"Such as?"

That tone: so much open curiosity covered over with enough scorn to drive wedges and make others underestimate him. It was perfect for a witcher. It allowed him to goad answers and information from unsuspecting targets, while allowing him room to return his own knowledge and wisdom. I grin: such a wolf.

"Send them around the western side of the mountains if you can. Nilfgard's crossed the Pontar in the East. Puts them maybe a week's ride from Kaer Morhen. I have no desire to cover our tracks in that direction, only to see it cleared again by some dumbass with a cart."

"You think Nilfgard will try to take Kaer Morhen?"

"I think the mountain pass will be too good an opportunity to ignore. A small contingent could hold it indefinitely if prepared, but if left open, an army could pass through unimpeded. Novigrad could fall in a month if Emhyr gets it in his mind to go that route. Only way I know to prevent it is with secrecy: if there is no evidence of a pass, then Nilfgard is more likely to use the mountains to split their foes in two."

"All assuming they don't know about it already. Emhyr is no fool, and he knows Kaer Morhen is in those mountains somewhere. Even sacked, it was built where it is for a reason."

"Hopefully, the thought of marching an army through the thick wilderness will be enough to put his generals off the idea." Worst case, we can lay out some traps, or perhaps Liana can heighten the magical defenses. Hmm. It would be good to see her again. Perhaps there is another advantage to following a White Wolf's lead in this matter. "Also, a second piece of advice: Don't invite too many people, got it? Be selective. Only the best, and brightest need apply."

"Of course. That said, I could probably invite whole villages, and we still won't fill that valley."

"No, but we may find ourselves kicked out of our home the winter afterwards. Or come home to find it empty, or torn down to make new homes. We need to rebuild Kaer Morhen. We do not need to build a settlement in the mountains."

"Hmmm. A good point. So that rules out large families, folk of privilege, and people looking for a new home." Geralt looks contemplative. As though he hadn't thought such a group could cause us trouble down the line. Perhaps he hadn't.

I decide to have mercy on my old student. "A handful of such people won't kill us. It is when they get it in their minds to take what is not theirs because we are gone 9 months out of the year that it becomes a problem. Might simply have to stay in the keep for a few years until things settle down."

The younger Wolf sounds surprised. "You willing to play the part of the Mountain King? Ruling over a small nation away from civilization?"

"Hmmph. Not if I can help it. But if this…showdown with the Hunt doesn't happen this year, then someone may have to." Especially if it doesn't happen this year. Dammit, old Wolf! You need to stop finding new responsibilities like this. "Any thoughts on how we can find an outside confirmation of your dream?"

Geralt inhales slightly, and I can almost smell his mind working. "Perhaps. Yenneffer was there at the start of my dream. If that is more than just wishful thinking, she may know something. And if she does, you may want to stick around for a moment to hear it, rather than wait for my letter."

I nod, thinking of a few good taverns in Vizima that I hoped had not been destroyed, or had at least been rebuilt. "Probably a good idea. Once she gives us enough confirmation to be sure, I'll split off to Kaer Morhen."

I glance towards my most well-known student. "Speaking of wintering and rebuilding, think you'll come this year?" I hope so. It would be good to have more hands nearby. Especially if we were going to put some real work into the old castle, rather than sit around yapping our jaws all winter.

"Maybe." Geralt has hope in his eyes, perhaps dreaming of that mythical quiet time with his raven-haired sorceress. "Might bring a guest.

* * *

"Yen's in Vizima. Got a few friends there, so…"

The grizzled Old Wolf before me was shaking his head. Something was distracting him. "What's wrong?"

"Look. Trouble's brewing."

I glanced to the next table. A number of thugs, playing a game of Five Finger Fillet, sat there smelling as though they had bathed in alcohol. A problem for the local tavern mistress to handle in her own time. Or to not, and risk whatever consequences happened. If we stayed, the killing would happen at our hands, no doubt. "Time we were on our way."

Vesemir nodded, clearly having come to the same conclusion. "I'll grab some provisions, then we will be on our way." Standing up, he spoke more quietly, so as not to be overheard. "Geralt, we should stay out of it. Just this once."

Letting the Old Wolf go, I considered what he had said. Even after all these years on the road, after all the pain and suffering I had seen, and caused, I still wanted to interfere, to help those that needed it. Deep down, I was still that boy out on the Path for the first time, getting suckered into helping everyone I saw. Shit, even the trader Bram had walked away from death without paying even a copper. Although his cousin had certainly paid her dues in his stead: Elsa's fried chicken, and country liquor had been welcome gifts.

But wasn't that what kept me going? Those nights when I wondered if being a witcher was worth it? When the thrill of the hunt, or the places I'd seen left me alone with my thoughts? Wasn't it the thought that I had made at least one life better, that I had protected at least one person, that kept me going on those hard nights?

No, I concluded. Those were not enough to keep me on the Path forever. I had no intention of hanging up my sword. Cynicism, and age had shown me that there would always be one more fight to be fought. There would always be one more arrogant asshole out to take what wasn't his. If I ever chose to settle, then it would be in a place that I could keep my skills sharp, and my blades in use.

There were also my friends to consider. I knew better than to try dragging them all with me to some obscure corner of the world for a retirement away from it all. Yen would grow bored and restless without a project no doubt. She had always enjoyed a challenge and I could imagine very little that could drag her away her efforts. Ciri had her own Path to live, precocious she-devil that she always was. She was probably enjoying her time on the Path, bar any unexpected visits from Eredin. Triss…I had no idea what Triss wanted anymore. But speaking with her was a challenge that I had no desire to face without some serious help. Dandelion? He had a plan for his life, and it had not been a half-century of poetry yet, I feared.

"…say Nilfgard's no place for superstition. That they don't fear the wrath of the gods! And You! Do you fear it?! Do you fear the gods wrath?!" I look up, back in the moment, seeing the innkeeper's head being slammed against the countertop by a younger dark-haired woman and Vesemir stepping in to break it up.

"Leave me be!" The young woman shouted as Vesemir stopped her. Worse than I am: Protect the Pack had always been his mentality. And that pack was shockingly easy to find at least a temporary place in.

I stood up to help my old mentor straighten this out, only realizing my mistake when I heard benches being moved as the thugs from earlier stood up to follow me. Vesemir could handle a pair of quarreling villagers, but the two of us together made for a threatening image. We hadn't left fast enough to avoid trouble after all.

The older innkeeper is holding a bloody nose when I reach the countertop. "Are you allright?" I ask. She glances up, eyes a touch glazed as she nods. Concussion probably. We should let Tomira know before we leave.

The sides for the impending fight lined up quickly as I turned around. Two witchers standing across from a half-dozen thuggish farmhands armed with nothing more than knives, frustration, and alcohol. "You see this Medallion? Do you know what it means? Back off!" Seems to me that Vesemir has seen the outcome to this far too often. Still, one more offer for the other side to walk away never hurt when trying to calm things down.

As they eye us up though, it occurs to me that the Old Wolf's efforts had been in vain. There was no clear thought among these thugs, except that they had had enough of being pushed around in land that should have been theirs.

"They say witchers steal youngin's! Is that true?"

"What did the Emperor promise you? Your own land? Like he did the elves once?"

We draw our steel blades, committing ourselves to the lives we were about to take. Neither of us had ever trained in merciful fighting. If a witcher strikes with a blade, he strikes for death. By drawing our blades, we made our intentions clear. "They won't back down now," the Old Wolf grumbles.

"I can see that."

* * *

 **A/N: And there is chapter one of Time and Allies. Let me know what you think. It is uncertain if I will write more of this. I really just wanted to get it out of my brain.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to, or resembling the Witcher franchise, or anything else you may recognize. I make no money off this story. Intellectual rights of the above belong to Andrzej Sapkowski.**

* * *

"That brawl in there? We didn't start it."

Not that it could be called a fight. The now dead thugs hadn't really been worth one. Brawl was a close enough descriptor.

Then I heard a familiar footstep. I pause. I sniff the air, catching a familiar scent. No way did she come find me when I had spent the better part of 6 months chasing her.

"Excuses, excuses. You haven't changed one bit." Black and white. Lilac and gooseberries. That smirk and the lilt of her voice. Yennefer. There was a time I could have recited every curve of her face, every dimple, every scar. I could feel it all rush back in an instant, and I feel my witcher's heart pause for a half-beat as the knowledge rushes back.

"Y-Yen? How?" It was all I could do to speak. Losing control like this is something I haven't experienced in decades, and I was desperate to regain my composure.

"I received a report." Matter of fact. As usual. "About a witcher in White Orchard. I knew it was you. Looking for me." I could see a question in her eyes that I could not hear in her voice. "I might have waited until you found me, but you know me. Patience has never been my strong suit." Hell no, it wasn't. "It's good to see you, Geralt." Hesitancy? "I'd even embrace you." Ah, there is the question. "Were you not covered in blood."

"Sorry." I can feel my composure slipping back and hope I will get to answer her question later. "To tell the truth, this isn't at all how I'd imagined we'd meet."

"How did you Imagine it?" An all new question from her this one voiced with something else underneath. That tone had led to a number of very enjoyable nights and I relished that familiarity becoming clearer with each second.

Apparently, I paused too long though. "He didn't imagine you'd have a Nilfgaardian Escort," the Old Wolf interrupted. "Don't get me wrong Yennefer: I'm glad to see you. But I do think you owe us an explanation." The Wolf never could stand Nilfgaard. Can't stand them much myself either.

"And I shall provide it. In Vizima." Her tone was all business as she took in Vesemir. "Ready your horses."

The ride to Vizima would take a day, or the better part of the night, as it was. And I wanted to get Yen away from the Nilfgaardians to talk. "Spent the last six months in the saddle. Could use a bit of rest here. There's some nice orchards nearby. In bloom even, so you almost can't smell the corpses."

A smile framed by raven locks. "A tempting proposition. Sadly I must say no." There's that business again. "You see, there is someone waiting for you in Vizima. Someone who does not like to be kept waiting."

I pause, schooling my features. I have a reputation of meeting royals and being hired by them, and only royalty, or someone of equal power could have gotten Yen to bring me to them. And I could only think of one that might have been in Vizima.

"Emhyr Var Emreis." Shit. "Or to those on more intimate terms with him, The White Flame Dancing On The Graves Of His Foes." Yen always did have a way with words.

"Doubt I number among that group." Don't really want to either. "Last time we saw each other, he wanted to kill me."

"Well, now he wishes to make you an offer." Now that is interesting. For one, it implies that he had made Yen a similar offer. For two, Yen clearly thought that I would accept and join her in working for Emhyr. Not likely but it did beg the question of what he had offered Yen, and thought he could offer me that could make old enemies like us consider working with him in any capacity.

"The kind one can't refuse?" The Old Wolf, preparing to prove you can say no to anyone.

"I didn't." Cold again. "Though I could have." Now that was a real surprise. I wonder what he could have offered her.

"Must have been a damn good offer then." Was that a touch of surprise in her eyes? "Fine. I guess I'm willing to hear him out." Trusting her had backfired once or thrice in the past, but I had an idea of what the Emperor's offer had been. Yennefer had been in my dream too after all. There wasn't much the two of us wouldn't give up if it meant seeing Ciri safe.

"The Emperor of Nilfgaard, Lord of Metina, Ebbing and Gemmera, Sovereign of Nazair and Vicovar will feel honored I'm sure."

As the Sorceress turned back to the horses to arrange her escort, I turned to the Old Wolf. "What about you?"

I had expected him to have a plan in place already, meaning to be as far from Emhyr as possible by sundown. But he loved Ciri too. "I'll come as far as the city walls with you and break off from there. You need to see if this has any connection to our…earlier discussions, and I need to prepare some letters."

"Then let's get going."

If Yen was surprised that the Old Wolf came along she didn't show it. "How is your horse? Swift?"

"Can't complain. Why?"

"I'd like to be back behind some thick city walls as soon as possible."

I could see the caution in her eyes. I was all but certain what was going on. I wanted to pull her aside, to tell her about my dream and Vesemir's suspicions regarding it. But I could tell that speed was the only thing on her mind. She would undoubtedly spare the horse for the sake of the journey and her escort, but she would clearly waste no time.

"Ready?"

* * *

As we rode out of White Orchard in silence, I took a moment to plan how I wanted to treat with Emhyr. I couldn't afford to alienate him completely. On some level, he did have the knowledge, troops, and wealth to make the School of the Wolf's lives miserable whether he won the war or not.

I had to make it clear what my priority was: Ciri. And I couldn't let on that I had any forewarning about what the meeting was about. Not and avoid suspicion. It is far better to be underestimated than overestimated after all. And if I did spill that card, what then? Emhyr would have even more reason to string me up until I either told him the truth, or gave him a name he could believe. No: better that he believes me unaware.

And Yen? If I was keeping this from Emhyr, could I tell her everything? I had no doubt she could keep the secret, but I could not tell her while in Vizima. She lacked a witcher's hearing, so we would have to be careful and assume Emhyr knew everything we spoke of within the castle walls. There was no doubt in my mind she needed to know at least some of what I did: of Eredin's hunt, and Ciri's imminent return.

"You know," I started, looking to try and convince her to stop for the night, "I had a dream about you recently."

"Knowing you it was probably filthy." The amusement in her voice was clear and inviting. I chuckled.

"Just the beginning, but then…" I paused, seeing snowflakes. That is not a good sign.

"Then?" Yen prodded before noticing the source of my distraction.

Vesemir was faster than both of us. "Ride! Now!" He yelled, charging past us on his horse.

Behind us, riding out of an unnatural blizzard, were at least a dozen heavily armored riders in silver armor, flanked by ice elementals roughly the size of dogs. The Wild Hunt had found us. Urging on our horses, we chased after Vesemir. The thunder of hooves was all around us, comforting almost.

The first Red Rider caught up to our group of seven, and I could hear one of our escorts cry out, and the clang of metal on metal. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw one fall from his saddle. Then another was pulled down by a pair of elementals. A third was being flanked from both sides and swiftly drew his sword.

I looked forward. Only Yennefer and Vesemir were before me. Doubtless, I would be first to be captured after the last Nilfgaardian fell. I urged my trusty Roach forward ever faster. I could see Vesemir fiddling with his pouch.

I knew it was only a matter of time before we were caught. Witcher's horses do not see much action. A witcher can do his job much better if he does not have to protect his mare, after all. On the other hand, the Wild Hunt rides everywhere, chasing who knows what, and killing for whatever reason. They would overtake us if this kept up.

As I desperately looked for anything that could change our fates, I heard the last Nilfgaardian fall away screaming. I was next. I remembered a conversation where Vesemir had mentioned using Aard to throw off his pursuers, but I had little experience in such things, and was not about to try it out for the first time now. Better to put my energy to keeping Roach calm and fast.

Then I saw it. A bridge! It was small and narrow, but it was well beyond a leaping horse to cross the distance, and was at least six feet to the bottom of the small ravine. That could buy us time. Vesemir and Yennefer saw it too. I saw a bright sort of light coming from Yen's right hand, even as the Old Wolf threw what looked like a grenade over his shoulder. Not slowing for anything, I pushed Roach to go faster still. As I crossed the bridge, I felt a heat on my back as Vesemir's grenade detonated. A moment later, Yen's conjured lightning bolt struck the bridge and destroyed the center of the crossing, leaving only the foundation on either side intact, and dragging an unfortunate horse and rider into the ravine.

Glancing back, I watched as the lead rider reared his horse, and turned around. We were safe. For now.

"Yennefer, what were they-"

"We shall speak of this tomorrow, all right?" Yen sounded distressed. "After the audience."

"No, Yennefer." Vesemir. "We have things we need to speak to you about without Emhyr's spies hearing every word. And I do not care if you think we can trust him, the fact is that I don't, and we need to talk."

Yen looked at Vesemir, a touch of surprise on her face. "What needs saying can wait until we reach Vizima. Everything I have to tell you, Emhyr already knows."

A touch of a smirk crossed my features. "And what about what we know?" Yen glanced at me in further surprise. Clearly, she had thought we were merely responding to her letter. "Yen, we can't trust Emhyr to act in our best interests. All three of us fall into categories of people he has ostracized and betrayed in the past. And we already know that his intentions towards Ciri have not always been fatherly in nature."

That last bit had thrown her off enough that she actually slowed her horse. "You know about Ciri?" Pulling Roach up short, I nodded, my suspicions confirmed. Yen had news of our Unexpected Child, and was trying to reach out to her, perhaps had convinced Emhyr to protect her from the Wild Hunt while she searched.

"I dreamt of her a few nights back. And you. And the Wild Hunt." The raven-haired Sorceress was listening raptly now. She knew that my dreams of Ciri tended to mean she was in danger. "Vesemir mentioned something about my time in the Trials that makes him think there is more to it than just being connected to Ciri. He seems to think I have latent prophetic abilities too."

"That would make sense from our time together. I had originally thought you were merely a skilled lover, but our first time together-"

"Yennefer, I think that is more than I want to hear right now." Vesemir rode back towards us after realizing we had slowed. "We can finish this discussion when we aren't so exposed. Let's get within sight of the city, and then we can set up camp. Anyone asks, you can say you and Geralt wanted a chance to reconnect. In private."

"Very well."

* * *

"What about your dreams makes you think they are prophetic?"

We had reached the outskirts of Vizima. The sun had set hours ago, and rather than entering the occupied city, we had settled in an inn less than an hour's ride from the walls. After securing the room against eavesdroppers, and making sure none of Emhyr's spies would be able to report on our location until after Geralt had met with him, I was eager for answers, and our private dining room was where I planned to get them.

Geralt took a moment to think, an apple halfway to his mouth. Doubtlessly, he was reviewing the dream in question to have it fresh in his mind. "In the past, dreams with Ciri in them have meant that she was in danger. This alone does not make them prophetic. The connection between us can easily account for the dreams as her subconsciously reaching out for help."

I understood the theory, and the phenomenon. I could also understand why Ciri would reach out to Geralt if she was actively being pursued by the Wild Hunt. What I did not understand was why he saw fit to review this as we both knew it. "That does not answer my question."

"I know. But it is important to review each aspect of the dream to explain why I plan to take the actions I am planning." Dammit Geralt.

"What actions?"

Perhaps he understood my impatience because he did not beat around the bush this time. "I plan to fight, and defeat King Eredin and his Wild Hunt at Kaer Morhen."

I leaned back, surprised. This was not what I had been expecting. Not the straightforward approach, that had Geralt of Rivia written all over it. What surprised me was his intention to claim a definitive stance against a major force within the world. For as long as I had known him, he had avoided taking sides in politics, despite his tendency to be hired by royalty and nobility. "Allright. I am listening."

He raised his eyebrow, but continued with his explanation. "The second thing to consider is the cast of the dream: Ciri, you, the School of the Wolf, the Wild Hunt, Kaer Morhen, and myself."

My turn to raise an eyebrow. "Kaer Morhen is a character?"

"If a place has special meaning to the dreamer, and to all others within the dream, then it is often as important as the message itself."

Geralt and I turned to Vesemir. The Old Wolf had a long memory, one filled with knowledge and wisdom. It was easy, even for me who should know better, to dismiss him as just another witcher. I often forget that he has been lifting curses, fighting monsters, and navigating the occasionally fluid laws of magic for longer than Geralt and I had been alive combined. I found myself pleased that he had decided to come along, at least this far. Still, I should pick his mind, and not take his experience for granted.

"How so, Vesemir?" I probed.

He seemed pleased. "People are curious things. We form attachments to other people, things, places, concepts, and anything else we can comprehend within our minds." He gained a far off look in his mind, no doubt thinking of one of his own attachments. "Witchers are no different. We have stayed at Kaer Morhen, even when it has been a ruin for decades now. It would make sense for us to arrange a new meeting place, one with a friendly monarch who could guard our secrets from theft, or who has larger stores of booze. Perhaps we should winter in warmer weather, or in a settlement that we do not have to repair the roof every year." His eyes rapidly cleared, coming back from wherever he had been. "We have instead kept Kaer Morhen intact, under mostly good repair for only being tended to once a year by no more than a half-dozen at most. We are attached to Kaer Morhen as we are to each other. I have no doubt Ciri remembers it as a place of safety. Geralt took her there after he collected her properly, and we all taught her everything we could with our time."

"You are saying that because Geralt and Ciri think of it as home on some level, then it became a character in the dream. That it takes on the character of a refuge, and safety."

"That is correct, Yennefer."

I nod: this makes sense on a certain level, and does not contradict any magical principals I can think of. Except… "Does this mean that Ciri experienced the same dream as Geralt?"

Vesemir stroked his beard, and Geralt looked thoughtful. "Possible, and if true it would only reinforce my conclusions." He raised his hand with a single finger upright. "Ciri is being pursued by the Wild Hunt." He raised another finger. "She misses her home, or at least simpler times, which is best defined by being at Kaer Morhen with her father," a nod at Geralt, "her mother," a nod at myself, "and her uncles: myself and the other witchers." A third finger raised. "And lastly Kaer Morhen is readying itself for battle." I withdrew confused as he continued. "Something that could shatter itself, and the School of the Wolf's connection to it."

"I'm sorry. I could have sworn you said Kaer Morhen was preparing itself for battle?" That didn't make sense: castles could not prepare for anything, not without a proverbial horde preparing it for a siege.

It was Geralt's turn to surprise me. "It isn't something we advertise, Yen. The witcher's schools were built on leylines in addition to defendable positions." He took a drink from his mug. "It allowed the mages and witchers to build defenses against monsters into the castle, and actually increased the survival rate of the Trials of the Grasses from one in twenty to as high as four in ten. The latent magic in the air was used to create a number of wards within and around the castle. No single individual can approach the castle without first being tested by the wards, or having a connection to them. Previous guests, witchers, and mages can usually pass through without trouble. Each time Kaer Morhen has come under attack it has been by large numbers of people, backed up by mages." I held back a grimace, thinking of Monstrum. Damn that book.

Geralt chose then to summarize his dream, doubtlessly trying to keep us on topic: an often fruitless effort when you consider the witcher's tendency to elucidate, and my own tendency to question and search for answers. "The dream starts simple enough. You and me in the room at Kaer Morhen. Then Vesemir, and myself, along with Ciri, Lambert and Eskel spent some time training in the courtyard." Sounded like a normal enough dream. The kind of memory I wished that I truly had with them. "Then the Wild Hunt attacked, and tried to kill Ciri. I couldn't move. I couldn't stop them." Oh. The pain on Geralt's face was obvious to someone who knew him.

Finally coming to an understanding how they had known Ciri was in trouble, I tried to move the topic back to what I did not understand. "But that does not explain how Kaer Morhen can 'prepare itself' for battle."

Geralt nodded, accepting that I needed to understand this. "The castle builds bonds, subconscious ones, with everyone that trains there. It is one of the wards built into the area. Over the centuries, these bonds reflected experience and instincts from the witchers trained there to the castle itself. The older a witcher grew, the stronger the bond became, and the more experiences passed back to the castle. This eventually caused her to gain instincts herself. I have found myself growing stronger after wintering there. Eskel heard has woken up halfway through replacing a wooden beam. We later found the one he was replacing was rotted through. Should have fallen on us years before from what we could tell. When we asked Vesemir about it, he filled us in on a few of the castle's…quirks. Vesemir has a better idea of what Kaer Morhen can and cannot do than anyone alive."

I shook my head. "I have heard of haunted castles, spectres taking up host in ruins, even of monsters taking them as homes, but I have never heard of a castle coming to life." It seemed impossible, but both witchers seemed to take it as truth. "Magical bonds, even weak ones can encourage friendliness, romance, antagonism, and other feelings. The can be used to teach students more quickly, or to transfer skills and knowledge. I used one once to sap an enemy of his strength when I absolutely needed to." I shook my head to clear the memories. That was a long time ago. "I have never heard of a bond bringing something to life."

Vesemir smiled kindly at me. Like he knew exactly where I was coming from and knew I would not be able to get past this. "Yennefer, I was born, and made into a witcher more than fifty years before Kaer Morhen was built."

I was sent reeling. Kaer Morhen was old. For Vesemir to be older than it… "But that would make you-"

"Older than I care to admit and you would be kind not to mention it to anyone." Vesemir had momentarily gone hard, but quickly softened and continued. "I was there when the wards were laid out. My blood was used as the basis for the wards tying the witchers to that castle, and I have spent a great deal of my life making sure that she is in good repair, and can house and support us."

Geralt seemed to have recovered from whatever surprise Vesemir's revelation had brought him. "Regardless, the castle is important. And if she is preparing herself for battle, something Vesemir should be able to confirm just by walking into the keep, then her instincts, the instincts of every Wolf she ever housed, are telling her a battle is coming for her. A battle we think we should give her."

That explained a lot, despite how ridiculous a self-aware castle sounded. "You want to find Ciri, take her to Kaer Morhen, and fight Eredin there." That was much easier to understand now, and the leylines in the valley would allow me access to a greater reserve of power than I could access elsewhere. Not to mention, it would be a good place to make new memories with Ciri and Geralt after it was all over.

"Yen, I'm aware it isn't-"

"It's a good plan." Geralt looked shocked. Honestly, did he think I wouldn't argue otherwise? There was no other place in the North that would offer the same benefits that Kaer Morhen did: defensible position, a large well of magical energy, and apparently a sentient castle.

Fuck, a _sentient castle_.

"You approve?" Dammit, he was shocked.

"Honestly, Geralt, you have already planned this out much further than I have. My plan, my goal, was simple: find Ciri. I had planned to reassemble the Lodge of Sorceresses under Emhyr in order to combat the Wild Hunt. However, that would mean conceding a great deal to Emhyr, something we may have to do anyway." Thoughts of Ciri on a throne in Nilfgaard made me uncomfortable. Ciri had always been a free spirit. Binding her to a throne, even one at the top of the known world, would forever imprison my dearest Swallow.

Geralt seemed to have noticed my discomfort, because he awkwardly reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. I deliberately breathed in and out before continuing. "Emhyr wants to pass his throne on to Ciri. He has run into problems in Nilfgaard, problems caused by moneymen, and certain high raniking noblemen. He has no proof, and they have enough support to have kept their noses clean thus far. However, if he does not gain an heir, or ally himself clearly with one of them, then he will likely be made to abdicate within the next three to four years. Abdicating the throne to Ciri now will give them hope, and likely set them to squabbling amongst themselves before any real conspiracy can gain a hold in their minds. It will also give Emhyr the political power to finish his conquest of the Northern Kingdoms."

Geralt seemed disturbed, but as always had kept up well. "I doubt she will go for that. Not unless we push her towards it." I shifted a little under his gaze. "Was that the deal? We find her, and push her towards taking the throne. He allows you to reestablish the Lodge, and helps destroy the Wild Hunt."

It was no wonder to my why I felt love for this man. "It's not like we have much choice in the matter. Emhyr is the lesser of the two evils in this case. But I was able to convince him that you would not listen to me on the matter one way or another."

"Which allows me to either convince her otherwise, or keep her away from him. And before we had this conversation, you were looking for support, and protection. Radovid wouldn't give you the time of day, but Emhyr will at least make a deal. Even if he may not honor it." Well, he isn't wrong.

"We seem to have gotten off topic." I jumped a little at Vesemir's voice. I had forgotten he was there. Geralt of course showed no reaction, but I could feel his hand tense before he removed it from my shoulder. Vesemir's smirk was hidden behind a mug of ale.

I refocused myself. Even though I still doubted that Geralt's dream was prophetic, it wasn't a bad plan in the least. "Even though I agree with much of your reasoning, all of this doesn't explain why you believe Geralt's dream to be prophetic. It can easily be the bonds between himself, and Ciri revealing the danger that she is in, with Kaer Morhen offering her support to them both."

Vesemir paused with his mug halfway to the table. "Yennefer, when Geralt went through his Trials, the presiding witcher and mage kept careful notes. He is the only witcher candidate to have survived the second set of treatments." I know this already, but keep my peace this time. "The notes mention a number of things that make me believe him to have the ability. I won't tell you what they are. Geralt has not read the notes yet, and I will leave what he chooses to share with you up to him."

Finally setting down his mug, Vesemir laid out his plan to me. "Yennefer, the matter of his dreams being prophetic is mostly irrelevant. Finding you, and having confirmation that Ciri has returned and is being pursued by the Wild Hunt sets our plans in stone, and lays out our timeline. Geralt and I plan to gather as many allies as we can, and rebuild Kaer Morhen until she practically sings in anticipation of this battle. This means we need to assemble craftsmen, warriors, mages, and witchers from everywhere we can reach out to, without drawing undue attention, and with enough haste that we are ready for Eredin when he arrives. Will you help us?"

"I am almost insulted you need to ask. What do you have in mind?"

* * *

 **A/N: Ok, so I will openly admit to taking a great deal of liberties with Kaer Morhen and Vesemir's past in this chapter. If anyone find something contradictory, please let me know, but do not expect it to change. It is an AU after all, and I have some basic plans for a few of these liberties.**

 **Please Read. Review. Enjoy.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Edit A/N(20171221): So I wanted to continue this story, but the last section of this chapter bugged me. No way Vesemir would ask for romantic advise from Geralt of all people. So I rewrote it. Just that last section so I can move on with this story. I like this new scene much more, and hope you agree.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to, or resembling the Witcher franchise, or anything else you may recognize. I make no money off this story. Intellectual rights of the above belong to Andrzej Sapkowski.**

 **Chapter 3**

* * *

"Geralt? That tunic? You look positively smashing."

"Ugh. Dying to take it off."

Hmmm. I rather agree. Yet… "I'd consider that a proposition under different circumstances. One I might even take you up on." Much like I did last night. "But we have matters to attend to." I stepped over to the table where I had prepared a small spell to counter any eavesdroppers. The matters we needed to discuss now were few in truth, having discussed most of our own plans the night before with the Old Wolf checking our work.

Triggering the spell with a small flash to signal Geralt of its activation, I turned back to the White Wolf. "Was he convinced?"

Geralt smiled wolfishly, showing off the predatory tendencies that had kept the school of the Wolf alive for so long. "Got him a little pissed off at me. No bowing, questioned his competence, I even raised my voice a bit. I doubt he even considered I already knew she was back." He paused to consider, even as he stepped nearer to me. "That said, we should likely stay away from him for a time in case he compares behavior to that little act I put on."

"Quite so." I nodded. Emhyr had had a very long time to learn disdain for Geralt's place in Ciri's life. "Regardless, thank you, Geralt. I know you didn't want to meet with the man." Especially since she knew it had irked him, for much of Ciri's youth, that her birth father kept trying to claim his Unexpected Child.

Geralt's eyes showed a little surprise at my thanks, although his body did not betray it. "You wanted to keep him in the dark. You felt that this was the best way to convince him. I agreed. You don't need to thank me for that."

His eyes hardened, and his countenance followed quickly. "You and Vesemir agreed to keep what you know secret, so the two of us wouldn't give in to temptation last night." Ah, back to business then. "What do you know?"

"So blunt," I teased. "Look for yourself." I nod at the picture on the table. "That's more or less what she looks like now. Or so our agents claim." I knew in an instant Geralt had caught my slip. Most did not understand that in the spy trade, everyone was an agent, and whether or not they were yours only depended on if you happened to be on speaking terms that week. Geralt had often been one such agent of mine in the past.

After a sharp intake of breath, he surprised me as he restrained his undoubtedly barbed comment. He held his gaze to Ciri's picture, memorizing it. Surely, he would be taking a copy to show Vesemir tonight. "How 'bout that? She's grown up."

I smiled fondly. He did not have to quiet his disdain for politics. And Ciri, my little Swallow, had certainly grown. "Hm-hmm. Our little Witcher's become a young Lady." I felt myself grow nostalgic for simpler times. "It's been years since you trained together at Kaer Morhen. Much has changed."

He looked up from the drawing at last. "You haven't. Not a bit."

I smiled. Strange how much I do that around him. "I missed those awkward compliments of yours." Forcing myself to be serious, I continued, "But let's focus on Ciri. Alright?"

"Right." He picked up Ciri's picture from the table. "Scar's healed nicely. I'm surprised it isn't deeper still."

I followed his gaze. "Indeed. I suspect she found an advanced form of medicine in her travels." I frowned in concern. "That blow nearly claimed her eye. I would certainly have done all I could to lessen its effects, however miniscule."

"Regardless, It will make it a little harder to find her. With less of a scar, she will likely be able to stand out less."

"I doubt she will be able to completely blend into the background. Especially since we already have reports of her in Velen, and in Novigrad." I stepped over to the map. "In Velen, her bearing alone would have marked her out. In Novigrad however, she must have thrown up a fuss for us to hear of her."

I glanced at Geralt, who was paying attention whilst folding a drawing of Ciri into his doublet. I really should take the time to ready him one that is less uncomfortable next time he must wear one. Perhaps he will mind less if it is reinforced?

I refocused on the matter at hand. "I recommend you begin in Velen. We have confirmed sightings there, and you will have our agents on hand to provide information. Speak to the innkeeper at the Inn at the Crossroads." Horrible name for a tavern, must be dozens of them. "Ask for Hendrik. He is the Emperor's spy in that portion of Velen, and the one who sent the reports, and the pictures." I glanced meaningfully at the picture Geralt had hidden away.

Geralt appeared quite unrepentant. "That's it? No passwords? No secret handshakes? A name and an area to start looking is all I need?"

"Yes, Geralt!" I never thought he wouldn't have gathered this much of spy trade over the years. "Sorry to disappoint you, tarnish your boyhood fantasies of the trade, but It really is that simple for low level agents like Hendrik."

He rolled his eyes and went back to the map. "And in Novigrad?" he asked.

"All we have there are unconfirmed reports. Yet, you will have the help of our mutual acquaintance." This was going to be much more uncomfortable. Things between us had been comforting, almost easy, so far. But Triss…

Geralt was looking at me in silent question. Meaning he was not sure whom I was referring to. Which implied a less amicable parting between the two than I had been lead to believe. I ruthlessly quashed the hope in my chest: such things would not aid me now. "Triss Merrigold. Apparently, she has a cozy little flat off the main square."

"I'm sure she'll be delighted to see me." Others may have missed the light sarcasm in his voice, but it told me volumes more of how the two of them had parted. I tried my hardest to suppress my suspicions. If I let Geralt in, and then lost him to Triss again… "What about you?"

Geralt had asked. I gathered myself, returning to the thoughts I had previously compiled for my journey. "I shall sail for Skellige." I looked back at him, unsure when I had looked away. "There was a magic explosion there recently, blew half a forest down. It's been drawing in storms as well, causing all forms of grief in the area. I believe this has something to do with Ciri. Meet me there once you've learned something."

Geralt nodded, seeming to commit himself to something. "One last thing before we go." Oh, dear. I had avoided this discussion last night, but now Geralt was clearly determined. "Why didn't you contact me? Didn't need me? Didn't even want to see me?"

"I didn't want to spoil things." A paltry excuse. "I heard you and Triss made a great couple." There. Barely even a stutter. Although it only seemed to make Geralt more determined.

"Yen, I'd lost my memory."

"Really? That's your excuse." As though I'm one to talk. Geralt turned his head away, shaking it, perhaps trying to decide how to explain something he had never been able to before. I didn't want to stain our parting with a fight, however, so I soldiered on. "Let's drop it all right? 'It's not what you think,' or, 'It helped me understand how much I love you,' I don't wish to hear it." He turned back, determination and resolve on his face. "Any of it."

The determination faded, but the resolve remained. I wished there was a stronger leylines nearby, so I could read his mind and ward against eavesdroppers at the same time, but the millennia had shifted Vizima's natural sources deeper into the Earth and towards the Eastern half of the castle, where Emhyr's quarters and diplomats were. I had no desire to be any nearer to them than I already was.

Geralt seemed to move on as I had asked as we stepped towards the fire. "Guess this means we need to split up again. Not my preference, but I understand."

"Quite." I dropped the counter-eavesdropping spell, still wishing I could have read his mind sooner. "So why don't I teleport you straight there?" I raised my voice, to clue him in that the spell was dropped.

"Not gonna happen. I'll go on horseback. Soon as I can get changed." Some frustration there. Definitely should look into that doublet while I'm in Skellige.

"Also, you really look quite dashing in black velvet."

"You think so?" Interest there, mixed with his usual sarcasm. "Maybe I should have some of my armor lined with it." There was another idea.

"And Geralt, I know it's wartime, but try not to be a hero, all right?" I tried to convey every ounce of sincerity in my heart into these words. "Just check those leads, and come back to me." I could tell he wanted to protest. He wanted to tell me that he had to secure favors, for Ciri, for the coming engagement with Eredin, but knew this was not the place. So, I rushed to convey my true meaning in a way I knew he would understand.

I kissed him.

Short and sweet. Chaste even. A kiss made simpler in hopes of conveying care instead of passion.

Withdrawing, I told him, "I shall be waiting." I smiled, seeing that he had gotten the message, and walked towards the exterior window. I fixed my destination clearly in my mind as I gathered the power I had prepared for this trip before me. I opened the portal to Skellige, and walked through. Time to ask Crach an Craite for a favor.

"Good luck, Geralt."

* * *

"More ale, Master Witcher?"

I looked up to the Innkeep, a middle-aged fellow, called Norlan, with a receding hairline and most of his teeth. "Please. And advice on contacting women you haven't seen in three hundred years if you have any."

The barkeep seemed taken aback by my request. Then he seemed to accept the question as familiar territory, even if he never received the question from a witcher before. "That would depend on the woman, sir. Some would like flowery praise, but you and I both know that isn' always true. And after three hundred years, you may be better off speaking to her in person."

I was shaking my head even before he finished. "Not possible I fear. She is a sly one, and a Sorceress to boot. Just the ale then, Master Innkeep."

The Innkeeper nodded, clearly used to customers taking up his tables, and time with matters he cannot truly help with, as he walked off to his stock. I glanced around the crowded parlor, grimacing as I took in some of his clientele. Times had not been good for Vizima. An army marches on its stomach, and so the army must get its food from somewhere. From the looks of the city, Emhyr's forces had gotten their food from the local populace. It is good for an army to forage, but it isn't even winter yet, and already there are shortages among the outlying villages. Vizima will be relying on Emhyr's supply trains catching up to him if it survives this coming winter.

Shaking my head, I returned to my letters. A stack of finished requests, and correspondences sat to the side, meant to call in favors, empty bank accounts, and settle affairs that should have been settled decades ago. With the loss of the Trials, and the attack following the publishing of Monstrum, many children had been left with their families, rather than pulled to a dying School, where they could never see their full potential realized. Eskel's Unexpected Child was not the only one, just the one with the strongest bond.

Eskel always did forge those exceptionally strong.

Finally returning to the sheaf of parchment before me, I found myself staring at a blank page. Only a drop of ink where I had realized I had no idea what to say. Liana and I had not spoken since her student had taken over responsibilities for the Trials. She had left without a word to me, and done so whilst I was on the Path. I had not seen her, nor heard of her since. I often wondered if what we shared had meant anything.

Of course, I also wondered if she had been threatened, or betrayed, in some way that forced her to stay away, but that is another matter. Any who may have done so were long dead, and of no concern now.

I put down my quill and sighed in frustration. In all my years, I had never understood women. They were exquisite, amazing, and beautiful creatures. Yet, for all that I had observed them, lived with them, and loved them, I could not tell you how a woman's mind worked. I stuck to monsters. Those I understood damn well.

As the Innkeep brought me the next round of ale, I stopped to think of Liana. Long blonde hair, green eyes, and no patience for half-wits that never opened a book. "Knowledge is the potential for power," she used to say. "If you want to impact the world, then you need to know _how_." Those were some of her favorite words for the young trainees. Many of them wondered why they needed to learn to read and write, especially before they were old enough for the Trials. She always seemed to set them straight.

She always had little pearls of wisdom like that too. Timeless advice that had empowered more than a few witchers in her day. It had been disappointing to many when she had left, the nearest thing many of my fencing students had to a mother. But she had never kept her eventual departure a secret. She never promised to stay forever. "Nothing lasts forever," she would say to me. Of course, that one she oft' followed with a, "Perhaps."

I needed to know what I wanted to ask of her. To see her again? Of course. To ask for her help? Absolutely. To hold her in my arms once more, in the castle that may as well have been ours for the better part of fifty years? What I wouldn't give.

But I couldn't. Not without knowing why she left, why she gave it all up. And that left me in my conundrum: how to ask a woman to come visit a mutant she hasn't seen in six lifetimes. I would not _beg_ , that was damn certain. I was a Wolf, not a Dog, after all.

I leaned back from the table, taking a long drink from my tankard. I had already left this letter to last, thinking that a few hours to think on it would grant me some mystical epiphany as I prepared my other letters. But those were all to contacts I had maintained over the years; people I still knew well, and could contact easily. The hardest part had been writing the letters down before my hand cramped up. No revelations had come. I was no closer to Liana now than I was twelve hours ago. Or twelve decades ago for that matter.

I glanced at the door as it opened to admit a light breeze. The White Wolf was standing there in the doorway glancing around. He spotted my raised head amidst piles of letters and made his way over. Hopefully he has some good news to distract me.

"'Bout time you showed up."

* * *

"You just had to pick the Inn furthest from the main road, didn't you?"

It wasn't a question, not really. The Old Wolf sat at a table taken up entirely by papers, envelopes, and a small space for his meal: bread, cheese, and a mug of the local ale: dark, smelled richer than most, not the cheap shit. If he was any closer to the main road, Emhyr would have—

"You know damn well I'd have been swarmed if I was anywhere easier to find."

Prickly old bastard. Something was bothering him, and it's not just sitting here cooped up all day. I took a seat across the table and moved some of the sealed envelopes to the edge of the table, stacking a couple stacks on top of each other precariously. Vesemir took no notice, staring at a blank page as if it was a particularly vexing forktail.

"Trouble?" I ask, specifically vague to prod him into answering from within his own mind. It's a trick I learned back when I was just starting on the Path. Someone with problems already knows what they are. Asking them about it will bring the most important one to the front of their mind, and the conversation.

"Nothing you need to worry about." Or it will cause them to clam up like a dwarf's purse in Novigrad. He was the one who taught me that trick, I suppose. "Where are you headed first?"

"Velen, then to Novigrad. Ciri raised some heads in Velen, enough to leave confirmed sightings behind. She was quieter in Novigrad. Just unconfirmed reports there." And a red-headed sorceress, but Vesemir didn't need to know that. "I probably won't find anyone in Velen that can help us, but I'll keep an eye out there." The Old Wolf was gathering a few scattered letters. "Something wrong?"

"I have a few contacts in Velen." That, combined with the sudden rifling through letters means he wants me to play postman. Great. "Nothing concrete, but a few folks there owe us, or at least the School, favors. If you hand deliver the letters I've written them, you should have better luck than the letter itself will." He selected what looked to be a half-dozen letters together from the various stacks. "Velen has always been a good place for a fledging Witcher to practice his trade, provided he stays clear of the Bog."

I could hear the capitalization in his voice. "Bog?"

"Crookback Bog is a miasma of magic and corruption that can easily slay any Witcher not at the top of his game." Holding out the letters, he fixed me with his sternest glare, the kind that had always meant it was time to shut up and listen. Even Lambert knew better than to backtalk that glare. "Steer clear if you can, but knowing your luck, and Ciri's I suppose, that's where you will end up sooner or later." I grabbed the letters, but the Old Wolf held on a moment longer. "Be careful, brat. Ciri needs you alive."

I tugged on the letters, and he let go. I don't need to be reminded that I need to be careful. That said, I mentally decide to check this Bog last if I can.

I flag down the bartender, a middle-aged man with receding, brown hair, and a gut from too much beer and not enough protein, and ask him for a small meal for the road, along with another of Vesemir's beers. No need to raise suspicion with Emhyr by staying near Vesemir. I turn back to the Old Wolf to see him contemplating another letter, sealed this time. "What's the problem?"

Vesemir looks at me calculatingly. "Geralt, we cannot do this." I reel back in my seat. Half of this was his idea, his plan. What was he saying? "Not like that!" he exclaimed. "What I mean is that the way we are going, we will run out of steam. Saving Ciri will bind us and our allies, but what then?" Okay, not regretting his plan, just reconsidering his approach. Makes sense now. I often did the same.

Sensing my understanding, he continued, "Defeating the Wild Hunt completely is a goal mostly beyond us. Ciri is the only one capable of traveling between worlds at her whim, and I doubt she can drag along an army." A fair point. "We need a bigger goal to bind us together, or we will shatter at our first real victory."

"Our what?"

"Victory. Letting ourselves be short sighted is our goals will cause us to fracture from within the moment they seem accomplished. Craftsmen will leave us to go where there is business. Mercenaries will only remain so long as there is coin. Friends may stay, but we have precious few of them. We need a mission. We need something to bind us together beyond saving Ciri, something that will take root in the hearts of others, and drag them together in a common goal."

It wasn't always, I got a lecture like this. I thought on its content. Protecting Ciri was everything right now. It often had been in the past as well. But Vesemir was right. Craftsmen needed to feed families. Mercenaries had to follow the coin. Success seemed further away than ever with this new reminder.

I glanced around the room. The bartender returned and set down my meal and drink, pausing to refill Vesemir's. Drinking, I am struck with a sense of nostalgia. I knew this beer. I felt an old memory, from before my amnesia, stir in the back of my mind. I had rescued a young girl from a couple of ghouls, once. Her parents had paid in room and board, along with a hot meal and some small coins to satisfy the code. They had served the same drink that night, said it was a family recipe they shared with friends. Safe enough for a Witcher to drink without fear of poison. "What drink is this?"

Vesemir had gone back to his letters, letting me think. "Blade Guardian. Name is a bit lofty for my tastes, but that doesn't change that it is a damn good beer."

Bleidd Guardian. It couldn't be. "Made at a little farm near a week's ride south from here? Joltia's I think it was?"

Now I had his attention. "That is the name of the woman that owns the still, yes. She was lucky to hold onto the land, but it is no small farm. Near 40 acres of land there. How do you know her?"

Joltia was the only name that had sprung to mind when thinking about that day. It had been sixty odd years now. Must have belonged to the daughter. "Vesemir, what are we?"

The Old Wolf seemed downright confused now. "What do you mean, Geralt?"

I set my drink before me, my resolve returning. "We are Witchers, Vesemir. Inhuman monster slayers. But we are more than that. About sixty years ago, I saved a young girl-child from some ghouls a week's ride south from here. I did not decide her path for her, but I gave her the chance to decide it herself. Now I am sitting in Vizima, drinking a beer named after me. What does that make me?"

Vesemir's eyes brightened as I concluded my tale. "It makes you that little girl's hero. It makes you a meddler in the affairs of the world."

"And what do heroes and meddlers do when they encounter something they do not agree with?" I could feel a fever grip me as I focused on the idea forming in my mind. Not even my disgust at being called a hero could distract me from this.

"They change the situation before them." I could see comprehension gather in the Old Wolf's eyes, like an old trick coming to the fore.

"What do we intend to do about Ciri's situation with the Wild Hunt?"

"We intend to change it, as proper meddlers do. What is the 48th lesson in being a Witcher?"

I paused, momentum broken. "Never get a blowjob from a vampire?"

"What? No, no, the other one!"

"What other one? Lesson 48 is to not have oral sex with creatures that drink blood, lest they bite it off and take it from you that way."

"No! No! Maybe it was Rule 48."

"A Witcher must know how to trick his opponents?"

"Bah! Enough! New lesson! Mottos are not mere proverbs, they are an insight to how to think." Vesemir shook his head, no doubt frustrated that his lessons hadn't sunk in the way he wanted them to. "The first Wolf School Witchers had a motto."

"Dubhenn haern am glâdeal, morc'h am fhean aiesin." Thinking back to our conversation about meddlers (not heroes) I thought it was fitting. The flash that cuts through darkness, the light that breaks the night. It sure did sound like something a meddler would say.

"That's what we are, Geralt. We are the flash that cuts." I l focused on Vesemir. He seemed to be thirty years younger. "And that is our mission, the mission we will give to everyone that comes to our aid long after we are dead and buried."

I let myself grin a little. "That is going to piss off a lot of people outside our group. Could get our gathering slaughtered one day if we get too political."

Vesemir's good mood could not be put down, however. "So we teach them how to stay neutral. We teach them the way we learned."

This was more interesting. "You want to teach them how to be Witchers?"

"No. I want to teach them how to think like Witchers."

* * *

 **A/N: The prologue is done, and I am out of Vizima! Please Read, Review, and tell me if I am taking too many liberties. I probably won't stop, since this is an AU, but it would be nice to have my characters...in character. Flames will be ignored. Critiques will be read and appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to, or resembling the Witcher franchise, or anything else you may recognize. I make no money off this story. Intellectual rights of the above belong to Andrzej Sapkowski and/or CD Projeckt Red.**

* * *

Velen is a shithole.

It's not the bogs. I have known many successful groups of people that live in or around bogs, and they survive just fine.

Its not the smell. I may be a 'city boy,' but city sewers, and trash heaps make the Novigrad slums smell far worse than a couple of potent bogs, and more monsters than swords in the Oxenfurt armory.

Its not the bugs. Or the toads. Or the wolves. Or even the monsters. Delicate ecosystem that.

Its not even the bandits, I reflected as I gazed at the hanging tree overlooking the shithole that is South of the Pontar Delta. All of these are symptoms at best of why Velen is a grade-A shithole.

It's the air.

I know what you are thinking: how can the air make a place into such a shithole? How can the air cause bandits and monsters and bogs? Well, allow me to explain.

Magic.

And no, that isn't a cheap answer like I give some customers to explain how I do my job. It wasn't even enough to do more than make my medallion buzz. Not hum, or vibrate, like it would around powerful magic, but just a soft white noise that I easily tuned out as I rode into the land known as Velen. I probably would never have noticed if I hadn't been looking for it. Old Wolf couldn't have just warned me off the whole damn region?

Between that, and the rancid taste of hatred on the wind, I could tell exactly what it was used for: control and corruption on a small scale throughout the entire region. Everyone that lived here too long without finding someone or something else to focus their attentions on would become their servants, pledging fealty to a force steeped in a deep hatred.

No wonder the armies couldn't hold the land. They were battling in what may as well have been the territory of a very powerful coven of mages. Witches, sages, alchemists, it doesn't matter what makes up the coven. Could even be a Higher Vampire that turned a druid circle into thralls a few centuries back. What matters is that they have, over the course of their extended lifetimes, turned all of Velen into their home. They could probably already tell I'm intruding.

Dammit.

No wonder Vesemir said it was a good place for a new Witcher to blood themselves. Plenty of blood to spill: monster or human. Plenty of work to be done. And no amount of optimistic naivete would survive more than three months here.

Of course, it also explained why I should stay away from Crookback Bog: it had to be the center of the coven's power, the place where they were strongest. The air there would no doubt be especially vile. Could probably drive good, strong, courageous men crazy in just a few days.

And, of course, it is most likely the place Ciri fell into if her luck holds true to form.

Damn, Velen is a shithole.

* * *

"I see. Well, then it will be cheapest to kill you."

Figures. Should have known thugs like this would think they could kill me. Three on One? Please. Maybe if they were championship fighters, or disciplined soldiers, but I had been killing punks like these for a long time. Probably since before they were born.

Damn, I'm getting old.

I cut through the Priest of the Eternal Fire (False Priest? Who knows. Even a legit drug dealing Priest would have to be terribly low on the Hierarchy's ladder to work out here) with a single stroke. Shallow, I wanted to talk to him after all. Still a fatal blow if he didn't receive medical attention, of which there was little in Velen to speak of.

When I had stopped to speak to the Priest, I had thought to myself, "Every bit counts." Helping Ciri would certainly not be cheap after all. And just because the Priest couldn't buy me, didn't mean it wasn't tempting.

As I severed the first goon's head from his shoulders, I considered why I had still stuck to the few morals I had been taught as a child. "Know your price, everyone has one. But make your code an expensive one to break, and no one will bother trying to compromise you."

Still not sure where Vesemir had heard it, but it was damn good advice. Even if it kept me in poverty at times.

The second one screamed as his arm was lopped off, arterial blood spraying over the grass. What a waste. You would think people would learn after centuries of tales what a Witcher can and will do to those that cross him. I supposed these three won't be able to spread the story, save as corpses.

At least Roach was here to carry the small amount of gear they had on them. Good blacksmiths are always willing to pay for raw materials.

Walking back to the Priest/drug dealer I was pleased to find him still mostly among the living. Using the still screaming goon as a backdrop, I knelt at his side. "I can make it quick, for a price."

The Priest's eyes hardened in an instant. "Fuck you! Why should I tell you anything! You've killed me!" Ah, a perceptive one. He already knew how bad his wound is.

Or he was being justifiably dramatic. Regardless, he's not wrong.

"You should tell me because I can kill you now, or drag it out for weeks." A lie, but he didn't know that, and his eyes returned to their previous fearful gaze. Good. Fear I can handle. Defiance makes for a rough time.

"Th-there's a chest, buried in the woods behind the tent! Cagh-hack!" Damn. Blood's in his lungs. Not long now.

"You have a shovel?"

"Left it by the - ack! - hole for when we - cough! - finished!"

I nodded sharply. No sense dragging it out now. Now, I'm not terribly religious, outside belief in someone fucking with my life to whatever end they desire, but killings like this always seemed to go easier with a proper sendoff. "May you find shelter in death with whomsoever you loved in life."

The tension around the Priest's eyes melted away. Most likely a sign of acceptance. "Never did - cough! – see that sunset - hack! – in Beauclaire."

After ensuring there were no weapons nearby, or under his robes (no sense in letting him kill me for being careless), I lifted the Priest's head a little, the screams of the dying man having finally quieted to moans. I took my dagger, the sharp one I used for claiming trophies, and divesting monster corpses of valuable organs and the like, and plunged it into the back of his neck, at the base of his skull. Death was near instant. Cleanest method I've found yet.

Standing up, I walked over to the moaning man, and silenced him with the next cleanest method I know: beheading. Strange, he held on to life a good thirty seconds longer than most do in that situation.

I took the time to remove all valuables from the corpses. There wasn't much, and most of it is gear that I intended to trade to the next blacksmith I meet anyway. There was a copy of orders in one of the late Priest's pockets. Half soaked with blood, but I could tell they were instructions to eliminate the fisstech dealers and clean up any loose ends. The signature was ruined, but the wax seal remained mostly intact: red wax, with a crown atop a stylized flame. Wonder whose it was.

Sighing, I set off to dig up this chest. May have better success there, and I should bury the bodies. This close to a battle site and the crossing, necrophages wouldn't even draw a contract. Just guards, and the refugees needed as many able-bodied men to protect them as they could get. Sighing, I found the shovel next to a disturbed patch of dirt. Horribly easy to find, that.

After a few moments of digging, the shovel struck something solid. Not even a foot under the surface. Good for me. Sloppy for them. I dug around the chest, clearing some extra space, and pulled it out.

No visible traps, and my medallion hadn't been humming at all in the last hour. Having deemed it safe to open, I lifted the lid to find about three quarters of the chest was filled with fistech. Must have been enough drugs in here to make a dragon high, and maybe three hundred Crowns as well. Maybe they had been planning to close up shop, and take it all back to Novigrad for delivery. That, or they were making a more important delivery, and couldn't leave the network unattended.

Now, that was an idea. And the inside of the chest was too small for the whole chest. I checked at the sides and seams of the box, searching for a hidden compartment. Wouldn't have been very big, judging by the dimensions of the chest unaccounted for. Nothing alive, either. Not enough air. There! I found a small seam in the inside of the chest and lift it up, revealing a false bottom.

What lay underneath puzzled me.

I pulled out a journal, worn and full, with extra pages and tabs sticking out of it's edges. Glancing through it, I saw equations, formulae, and one recipe that looked familiar to me, but was written in a language I had never learned. Matter of fact, most of the text was gibberish.

Huh. What was something like this doing on its way to Novigrad?

I looked up to see Roach approaching tentatively, like most new Roaches tend to do after a messy fight. I allow myself a small grin.

Every little bit counts after all.

"Come on, Roach. Gimme a hand with some of this."

* * *

"Thanks for not startin' a row with those swine."

The bartender at the Inn at the Crossroads had a full beard, a quick grasp on his wits, and the understanding born from his profession to take trouble as it comes.

"I don't generally poke my nose in other peoples' business." Just when it's my business, anyway. Besides, barfights are for drawing attention, and I need to find Hendrik before whatever local authorities, such as this Bloody Baron, decide to have problems with me. Better to let them talk of a Witcher instead of a murderer.

"Lookin' to stay the night?" Business it was, then.

"No," I replied giving the bench a glance and a headshake. The barkeep gave a soft groan of disappointment.

"I'm looking for Hendrik."

The barkeep shrugged. "Man lives in Heatherton."

"Don't know where that is."

"Other side o' the hill." Like that helps in these rolling hills. At least it isn't the other side of a bog, means I can keep my feet dry a little longer. Maybe. "Looked thataway this morn and saw a strange glow. Imperials on the raid, perhaps, but who knows..."

I looked at the bartender, thinking about a group of a half-dozen kids less than two hour's walk from town that could barely see my belt. No. Sad as it was, it looked like they were actually better off as far away from the Baron's men in the other room as possible. Even in the middle of Velen.

"Anything else you can tell me about Hendrik?"

The innkeep's a bit of a gossip. "Odd fellow. Arrived from who knows where an' for no apparent reason. Shacked up with a widow whose husband was stabbed for a loaf of bread." Wonder if Hendrik did the stabbing.

"Baron's men don't like strangers."

"Aye, an' he stays out o' their way. Always seems to know when they're comin'. Always manages to disappear." Definitely may have stabbed the husband. Would have to be careful.

I nodded. "Thanks, innkeep."

As the innkeep turned back to his counter, I pulled an apple out of my pack, and walked out the door to Roach. Apples and nuts seemed to be the only edible fruit that grew in most of Velen, and even these were hardier, and sweeter, than most. I thought back to the invasive magic in this land. How long had it been here, spreading its influence, that whole species of trees had been driven out? Why? Plums, berries, and pears all grew North of the Pontar. What did apples have that had enabled them to survive instead?

I shook my head and pulled out my journal. Normally I could remember what I needed to, Witcher mutations seemed to enhance our memory recall, but they say memory is the first to go, and I will not be outdone because I miss something obvious. I wrote down everything I had learned of Hendrik here, supposition or not. I then pulled out my bestiary and flipped to the formerly empty page I had dedicated to Crookback Bog and whatever lived in it, and did the same.

Snapping the books shut, and putting them away, I climbed back onto Roach. A strange glow on the horizon usually meant a fire. I hoped Hendrik wasn't dead before I get there. Imperials might leave one of Emhyr's spies alive if he could prove it, but I doubted the locals would be as forgiving.

As I rode through the woods North of the Baron's seat of power, I can't help but wonder what Ciri had thought of Velen while she was passing through. Had she found it as unforgiving as I had? Had she even noticed the force corrupting the entire region? What friends had she made? She always did have a way of drawing people in with little more than a smile and a few words. Drew the entire Witcher school in that way.

As I shook my head free of cobwebs, I spotted a small group of what looked like bandits on the road ahead…

* * *

"Air's strange…like dropping into a deep cellar on a hot day. And the mist…"

As I rode closer to the village of Heatherton, I could see more evidence of cold weather than just the air I felt. Frost had rolled over the ground. The insects that should have been making noise were silent. My breath fogged before my face. Either an Ice Mage had been pissed as hell at this village, or I was too late.

As I rode into the village square (empty, homes half collapsed and burned), I heard dogs barking. Not moving fast, likely have their quarry pinned. Best intervene before they kill whatever witnesses there are.

I dismounted, the steel in my hand before I reach the ground. Rushing forward, I observed a torch being waved through the mist. My eyes rapidly adjusted to the torchlight, revealing a scared man (wrinkled, warmly, if raggedly, dressed) warding off three dogs (emaciated, likely looking for food).

Using Igni, I set the center dog aflame. The second, on my left, received a sword across its flank as it attempted to back off. The last approached me slowly, likely expecting to take advantage of my preoccupation. I turned to it, and was forced to dodge its leap. The dog overshot and landed on its wounded fellow.

Claiming the opportunity, I beheaded the first dog as it rose from a snowdrift. Smart, for a dog. I turned back to the other dogs. Doggy number three was the first upon me. Three strikes with the steel saw it dead. The second, and last, fell back under another Igni. Its beheading was quick.

The dogs slain, I turned to the survivor.

"Begone! Leave me be! Whoever you is!" Panicked. I took a moment to clean my blade before sheathing it. It didn't calm the man much. "Get away!" I cast Axii, slowly, so as to not alarm him.

"Calm down. It's over."

Calm and reason quickly returned. Even the Axii didn't hold him for very long as his eyes took in what was left of the village. Holding his head, he responded, "Aye. It's over. All's passed, never to be restored." The man (bloody hand, wrapped,) walked to the village well. "I'll not forget tha' ever."

The man seemed defeated as he sat down on a bench next to the well. Best to get him talking now. "Looking for a man named Hendrik. Supposed to live in this village."

The survivor nodded, his head bowed. "Aye, he did. No longer." Anger in his voice, a good sign. "They nabbed him! In that hut." His head raised, he gestured behind me, to my right. I glanced to be certain which one he meant. "If you'd a' heard the cries, sir." Defeat again. Someone made quite the impression. "If you'd a' heard how a man can scream…how he can suffer…"

Damn. Torture. Likely this poor man's first exposure to it. Likely how he stood up so quick after the Axii. His adrenal glands must be working overtime, trying to keep him moving.

Best get his story before he starts suppressing. Will probably help him to move on too. "Tell me what happened here, step by step."

"They took 'em. Took 'em all." The man grew even more somber then. "The sun was waning see…and the dusk went crimson, like blood. Thought to meself, 'Strange, the toads…I cannot hear them…'"

As I listened to the man's tale, of the war horn in the night, and the rush of cold wind, I could not suppress a shiver. I remembered anew the times I rode with the Wild Hunt. Of the raids, and the massacres committed under their banner. The rushing tactics used to surround the targets, how the navigators would open portals to the White Frost only after it was already too late. Of how the strong were taken back to Tir nà Lia as slaves, and the weak were slain on the spot. It was not all clear to me, but it was clearer than it had ever been.

"…know not what happened there, save terror though and through." I came back sharply to the man's tale. "Hendrik screamed! Then he begged! By the end, he could do not but moan." They tortured Hendrik. Him specifically. This was no normal raid. They wanted something from him.

I didn't want to do this, but I needed to know how important this was to the Wild Hunt, what exactly I was up against. "The leader, can you describe him to me?"

The survivor looked stricken, as though I had asked the worst thing he could think of. But he showed his strength. Resolving himself, he plowed on, "Tall. They were all tall, but this one was a head taller than the rest. He wore…a skull like mask, made of metal, to hide his face. He 'ad what looked like platemail, like frosted bone, same as the others, but his helm, 'is helm was spiked 'round the top, like a crown."

My eyes widened in realization. Eredin, the bastard King of the Wild Hunt himself, had come to Velen.

"Shit."

The man seemed to understand that I knew what he was talking about. He lowered his head. "Tweren't here long, the terrors, but the village froze, like in the heart of winter."

"They see you when they rode off?" It would be just like Eredin to leave a survivor for me to find. Bastard's damn arrogant.

"No. They'd a killed me if they had."

I nodded. The man had been through an ordeal, even at a distance. Many wouldn't have been able to tell me about it without breaking down again. The man had a strength in his bones, even if he didn't know any use for it save to work and keep working through the hardest of seasons. "Will you be alright here?" I already knew the answer.

"No, but I'll survive." He put his head between his hands. "Need to bury the dead before moving on, though."

Some honor in him too. Or maybe just how he was raised. "Gather the bodies in the middle of the village. When I return from Hendrik's house, we'll light a fire."

The survivor was surprised. "You some kinda priest?"

"No. Do you have a better idea?"

He shook his head. "Nay. I'll gather the dead."

Turning, I considered the hut Hendrik had stayed in. More than a bit rundown, it was untouched by the fires, and the only sign of violent damage was the broken door (split in two near the latch side, likely kicked in with a boot). I could see signs of repair all around the hut as well. Thatching redone. Windows repaired. Even signs of a replaced wall. Whatever kind of man Hendrik was, he certainly earned his keep.

As I stepped inside, I immediately smelled the corpse that was Hendrik. Him and two others. A woman (young, throat slit) and a young boy (five to six namedays, beaten), had also been killed here. Most likely trying to make Hendrik talk.

Damn. Let's check Hendrik first. Then I'll take these three out to join the pyre.

"Tortured him," I stated to keep the record clear in my head. "Maybe they missed something. Should check his boots." Most likely hiding place in a pinch. "Key hidden in his boot. Perfect."

I stood. "Gotta fit a keyhole. Somewhere nearby hopefully." I walked to the next room, and noticed, "There's a draft. Gotta be a space under this rug." Rolling the rug back revealed a trap door. "Hmm. Wild Hunt wouldn't have bothered to close this up again. And there's a lock on it too."

After opening the cellar door, I climbed down to find barrels of what smelled like ale, and a large number of packages. There was also a missing persons flyer for a "Tamara Strenger, daughter of the Bloody Baron." Curious. Taking note of the flyer, I explored the cellar some more. Coins left out and unlocked. Furs and perfumes in one corner, farming tools in another.

And a suspicious looking candle.

I used Igni to light the candle first. No change. Not a magic lock then. I tug on it's brace and am rewarded with a satisfying click, and the sound of a door unlatching. Sure enough, the next room had new door in it, hidden behind a large dresser. Fine craftsmanship. Hendrik clearly had practice with wood for his spare time.

Behind the door was a pleasant surprise as well. "A ledger." "Payment for a sack of grain." "Amount due for a charcoal shipment." Hendrik was masquerading as a merchant. And in the margins…

"What's this? Notes among the ledger entries. Clever."

"Missing and Wanted: Subject appeared in Skellige, also in Novigrad. Appearance unchanged. Ashen hair. Scar on her face." Scar hadn't seemed that bad in the drawings. Poor artist maybe? "Avoids contact with others." Odd, always seemed to enjoy meeting new people.

"Drunken Swine: So-called Baron hosted subject at his castle, or should I say, illegally appropriated fort. Reason unknown. Talk to Baron at Crow's Perch." Of course. Back to the places everyone says to avoid.

"Clashed with a Witch: Subject landed in swamp. Encountered a witch. Conflict ensued. Cause unknown. Find the witch." Shit. Hope I don't have to go cleaning out the Bog this soon. And with next to no understanding of what they do. "Talk to the peasantry-Village of Midcopse." Oh, good. A lead that doesn't have me slogging through muck and grime to find a hostile source of magic.

Damn. I hadn't considered it being a Source running the coven yet. Will have to write that down.

The last heading was especially revealing. "Caution advised: I'm being observed. Don't know by whom or why. Unsettling signs. Dog ran off. Water in bucket froze solid. Strange glow observed in the sky. Ill omen peasants say." This is a low-level agent? He noticed the Wild Hunt prepping an attack, and identified Ciri in a place where a destroyed village didn't become noticed for days. That said, she didn't exactly seem to be hiding too much. Dinner with the Bloody Baron, and fighting with witches. There's a story there.

I drew myself back to the notes in my hand. "Somehow, they learned Hendrik was looking for Ciri. Thus, the torture." Standing up, I summarized, "I'm too late. My only leads, the Baron, and a witch near Midcopse."

"Damn."

* * *

"Thank ye, Master Witcher."

It is much warmer in Heatherton now. Funeral pyres can do that. Too many had died here. Far more than in a normal raid. According to Bill, the survivor from the attack, nearly half the populace had been run through by Eredin after Hendrik died. The man clearly hadn't given Eredin anything, and it had angered the King of the Wild Hunt to no end.

Not sure why Bill is thanking me, though. "This isn't free, Bill. You paid me to help, after all."

The survivor just shook his head. "Not thankin' ye for tha'. I'm thankin' ye for pullin out the booze before lightin' it on fire." The man, Bill, raised his mug to drink. We were sitting on a bench we had pulled over near Hendrik's home, drinking from one of the casks he had hidden away in his cellar.

Waste not, I supposed.

Upon realizing I was a Witcher, Bill had requested I help him put the dead at ease. Offered me his last coins to help him lay the dead inside the house and to set it on fire. I agreed, but not before I brought out Hendrik's goods. The sheer amount that was in there had surprised Bill. I used some of it as an accelerant for the fire, and we cracked open another cask to toast the dead.

"You're welcome, Bill."

* * *

 **A/N: So, It took me some time to decide where I wanted to go with the next phase of this story. The thing that I like about The Witcher is that it makes it clear that everyone has a story to tell. Whether you find it is another matter entirely. Most of Velen, Novigrad, and Skellige will probably continue in the vein of this chapter, sidequests with different endings because Geralt is constantly looking for an edge that may help against the Wild Hunt, rather than just rushing to catch up, although there will be plenty of concern over that. I also hope to mix in different POVs as Vesemir and Yennefer pursue thier own parts of the plan, and to mix in new sidequests related to the letters Vesemir asked him to deliver.**

 **All said, if there are any sidequests in particular you want to see, or if you catch anyone being too OOC(I'm human. Sue me.) please let me know.**

 **I'm moving soon too, so it'll be a few months before I can write again.**

 **Please read, enjoy, and review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to, or resembling the Witcher franchise, or anything else you may recognize. I make no money off this story. Intellectual rights of the above belong to Andrzej Sapkowski and/or CD Projeckt Red.**

* * *

"Early the white one is."

"Odd. I'm usually late." Always entering the tale after all the roles are set, and only the clean-up remains.

"He comes searching for answers, seeking aid, but he is early. Too early. If the white one comes at a time when the pellar does not require deliverance from those whose stench is death, then what else could be wrong? What do you think princess?"

Bill of Heatherton had been a helpful fellow indeed. Turns out there is a system in place for getting messages out and around Velen. If you know where to look. "A man named Bill sent me here to deliver letters, and to tell you that all of Heatherton is gone. Burned to the ground."

The pellar looks up from where he milks his goat. He is an old, frail man. Experience and wisdom line his face and set his eyes with a cunning edge. "Heatherton? Gone you say? Nay, not until the last man leaves that place."

"Well, there isn't much left of it."

The pellar sighs. "Came for the Stranger, did they?"

"The what?"

"The man who came from afar. He was always sending messages. Sold good materials for underprice if you could tell him something he hadn't heard." The pellar turns away from his goat fully, standing to his full height. The man's frame is coated in lean muscle, and he wears a necklace of chicken feet. "Is he dead?"

Strange indeed. Hendrik may have been Emhyr's main agent in this part of Velen, but he certainly left a trail. Might be how Eredin found him… "Yes. The Wild Hunt killed him after torturing him for information."

The pellar nods. "A shame. The Stranger was a good customer. Always had a message to send somewhere, and twas always looking to share a drink with everyone."

Sounds like a gossip. "Speaking of messages, I need to send some. Better yet, I need to know where to go so I can deliver them myself."

The pellar considers me as though gauging my worth. My medallion hums a hair louder. Interesting. "You're using magic," I accuse.

The pellar smiles, a hard, brittle thing. "And your medallion is real. Bound to a warrior experienced in both saving and killing. A true Wolf." He turns, entering his hut. "Come. The pellar will help. Mayhaps, the White One will know who needs saving and who needs killing better with help."

It is my turn to smile as I enter the small home. The pellar lives in a one room hut with a desk and a large map taking up most of one wall. There is also an open area with evidence of repeated scrubbing. No stains are in it, but there are several lying around the edges. To the left side of the hut is a bed and a table with chairs. Shelves line the entire home, filled with herbs and charms.

Someone to remember in the future.

"You live a fair way from the village."

"The pellar must. Villagers always seek him out when they need help. But too much of the pellar and they grow hateful. Their stares make the pellar wonder if one will finally take the hate too far one day. So, the pellar lives away."

"I know what that's like," I mutter.

The pellar seems to have had enough of the conversation. "The Wolf searches for someone, yes?"

I nod, drawing my worn journal from my pouch. "I have six letters to deliver, one of which lived in Heatherton, but Bill said had not been seen since wintertime."

"Jon the Butcher." It wasn't a question

"You know him."

"Aye. The pellar does. The Butcher runs a smuggling ring back and forth past the battle lines. He goes as far north as Kovir, and as far south as Cintra. Or he did. Radovid used him to supply his soldiers behind Nilfgaard's lines. Emperor Emhyr finally caught him off the coast here in Velen two months ago. The pellar hasn't heard from him since. The Butcher will return here eventually. If he survived the attack. Leave the letter with me and I will pass it on."

Damn. I handed over the letter with a feeling of frustration. An experienced smuggler? One that already had disagreements with Nilfgaard and might be willing to go behind Radovid's back too? I suddenly hoped that this Butcher had survived. If we could run supplies past the Pontar without dealing with either side of this war, we might be able to remain independent of this fucking mess.

"What about Ralin of Blackbough? That's near enough."

"Aye. Ralin and his two children live in Blackbough. He is the blacksmith there. If you will be in the area for long there is something you should know."

I nod, waiting for more.

"There is a werewolf living peaceably in the area. Or there was. The Hunter lost his wife a few days back and has been unable to find her." He grew somber, his eyes looking out his window to the forest. "This agitates the wolf, makes it angry. It has killed twice since then. I will leave any contract you choose to take to your discretion, White One, but do not trust the jealous sister, and search all corners."

"The jealous sister? Search all corners? What are you talking about?"

"Speak to the Hunter called Niellen. He will set you on the path to the missing woman."

I make a note in my journal. See Niellen. Possible werewolf problem. Long term cohabitation. Missing woman from the area. Do not trust the jealous sister. Search all corners.

Hey, just because I don't understand it now, doesn't mean I won't figure it out.

"What about Edna Kindheart?"

The pellar seems slightly confused before making the connection. "Edna the Fierce is what they call her. She traveled from Cintra, looking for adventure. She found it as well as a man she liked enough to settle down with. Now the Fierce lives in Claywitch with her husband. She runs an orphanage, and half the town it seems. Though for how much longer, the pellar don't know."

"Why? Is something wrong in Claywitch?" If I need to get there quickly, then I need to know.

"Fierce's husband, man named Royce, ran off when the larder ran empty." The pellar looked tired. "Way the village tells it, he suggested sending some of the children away until the larder was full again. Was a right row all night. No one dared interfere. When it was over, Royce had left, and the Fierce was weeping in her home where the children couldn't hear." The pellar looked at me, hope clear in his eyes. "If you can aid her, she will repay the debt."

"I will if I can." A woman of courage, with enough fury to be called Fierce? I can see why Vesemir wanted her help.

"What about Chet Thatcher?"

"A good man. He works out of Crow's Perch, but he made nearly every roof in Velen."

"Seriously?" He can't have made every roof. It's too much. It takes time to travel and make homes, and any farmer can thatch a roof well enough.

The pellar told me different, though. "Chet Thatcher makes the best roofs in all Velen, and even makes house calls to make repairs. He is a curious man that works to learn new ways to fix things. He built my hut himself!" The pellar gestures wildly around him as though his exuberance could better explain than his words.

Right. Moving on. "What can you tell me about Fran of Frischlow?"

"Dead. As is the rest of Frischlow. Whole village burned out. Occupied by wraiths now. I forward her mail to her son Edkar, at Oxenfurt Academy."

Dead end. Literally. I'll have to see if Edkar will help in his mother's memory later.

"Last letter," I explain. "Jakob of Midcopse, is he alive?"

"Jakob was on the Butcher's crew. He did survive and has taken up work as a farmhand to put food in front of him. He should be in Midcopse, if he is anywhere."

That's a start. And more leads besides. One missing presumed dead. Four alive and well. And one dead, with a son in Oxenfurt.

"Thank you, Pellar. Be seeing you."

* * *

"Wow! My Dad used to make swords like yours! Can I touch it?"

The speaker is a young boy, no more than eight or nine years old. He sits next to a young girl, his sister most likely, around the same age. "It's sharp. Better not. Need to talk to your father."

Said father, a middle-aged blacksmith with large forearms and dark hair, looks up from his work. "I forged swords once. Now its scythes and hoes. For quality arms, you need to go to Novigrad."

"Not what I'm here for, Ralin of Blackbough."

That takes him by surprise. "I see you already know me. Who might you be?"

"Geralt of Rivia. Vesemir taught me damn near all I know." Vesemir's name seems to set him at ease while I reach into my pouch for his letter. "Here. Vesemir wanted me to deliver this to you."

The man rips open the letter with an unexpected eagerness. "It has been some time since I have heard from that old coot. Was starting to worry he would not collect. Do you know how frustrating it is, having a debt like that hanging over your head?"

"I generally can't afford to let debts go unpaid. But I have had to collect enough times that I can guess."

The blacksmith chuckles. "Aye, I suppose so."

As Ralin reads the letter, I turn back to the children. "Do you like it here in Velen?"

The boy answers first. "Of course! There's all sorts of things to do, woods to explore, frogs to catch!"

"Dummy!" the girl interrupts, "We can't go in the woods! How are we supposed to explore it?"

"Haddy, if you have been going into those woods again after I told you time after time to stay out…"

"But Dad!"

"Don't you 'But Dad!' me." Clearly this is an old argument. Whoops. "There are wolves in those woods that will not hesitate to rip you apart!"

"But they didn't- "

"I said no, Haddy!"

The blacksmith's son, Haddy, quiets down at his father's obstinance, but I picked up something Ralin appeared to have missed.

"What do you mean they didn't?"

Haddy seems hesitant to tell me. He looks to his father, who nods at him to go on and answer. "Well, a few days back, I got up, so I wouldn't wet the pallet, and I saw Aunt Hannah following someone into the forest."

"The forest? Aw, hell. Niellen won't like this."

"Niellen?" Just because I know he is a hunter in the village doesn't mean I can't find out more.

"A hunter. Lives just down the road. He's the only one not a feared to go in the forest. His wife has been missing for nearly a week now. He just sent out missing flyers to the other villages this morn."

"I see." Maybe anyway. Is she one of the ones the pellar said had been killed? "Haddy, please continue."

Haddy seems a little less nervous. "Well, she and the other went into the forest. I was curious, I wanted to know what was going on! So, I followed them."

Ralin sighs, long and tired. "Haddy, why didn't you come and get me if you were so curious?"

"I, I don't know Dad. I just wanted to see what was going on."

"No doubt. Your son is a curious one."

"Gets it from his mother. What happened next Haddy?"

"I'll bet he lost them. Wasn't able to keep up!" She is most certainly the boy's sister.

"Shut up, Juli!"

"Haddy! What happened next?"

"Well, I tried to follow them, but it was dark, and I lost them after a few minutes. So, I used some of those tracking tips Uncle Niellen taught us, so I could follow them! After a few, I heard a scream, and some howling. Miss Margrit came running out of the woods. She ran right past me all the way to the village."

"And?"

"Well, I had fallen down. Before I could get up, some really big dogs, wolves, I guess, surrounded me, but then Aunt Hannah arrived!"

"Hannah? What happened, Haddy? Don't you know half the village has been worried about that poor woman?"

"She told me not to tell you!" Haddy insists. "After she arrived, she told the wolves to back off, and they did. They stopped, and she said, 'This boy is not food.' Then she told me to run and to not tell anyone what had happened." Suddenly the boy looked ashamed. "I guess I messed that up, didn't I?"

I turn to Ralin. I expect he will want to have words with his son in private. "Read the letter," I instruct, "It sounds like I need to have a talk with Niellen. See if his wife might still be alive. I'll be back to talk about what Vesemir has to say later."

"Good luck, Master Witcher."

* * *

I breathe a little easier as the Witcher walks away. Not here to take Juli. Just to deliver a letter. And much more interested in what Haddy, miserable scamp, had to say about wolves in the woods than what I let slip about an old debt.

Thank whoever was watching over us.

"Daddy? Is something wrong?" Juli. After her mother died, she had quickly become the apple of my eye. I did my best to love my children the same, but Juli had me wrapped around her fingers from day one.

Even had me lying to Witchers.

"Nothing's wrong, Juli. Just need to read this, and then we can go see about supper."

Haddy grows excited at the word 'supper.' That boy could eat enough for two boys his age if I could supply it. "Ooh! Can we have that broth Miss Glenna made the other night?"

"Why don't you go ask her if she has any to spare, eh? You too Juli."

"OK!"

As they run off, I grip Vesemir's letter tightly. I hadn't made it more than a few sentences, but so far it seemed to be a letter of introduction for the Witcher that had just left. But why would he need one?

I walk inside to sit down. Turning back to the letter, the same feeling of awe I had felt ten years ago returns full force.

"…Geralt has been sent to accomplish a number of things in Velen. Not the least of those is asking you and your family to pay your debt to me.

"Do not fear: I have no intention of separating you from your children. However, another Child of Destiny has come under pursuit by the Wild Hunt. King Eredin has decided that he wants to take the power of one of young Juli's sisters for himself. We at the School of the Wolf have protected her as best we can. We taught her how to protect herself and others. Yet I fear it may not be enough.

"So, I come to you, and many others like you. These days when we invoke the Law of Surprise, it is a matter of mercy upon the less fortunate. But there are many who still owe us a debt like yourself. I ask you to fulfill this debt by traveling with your family and any supplies you desire to Kaer Morhen.

"Upon arrival, I ask that you aid us in restoring Kaer Morhen's defenses. In exchange, we will provide food, shelter, and supplies to ply your trade among us. I came to you in your hour of need. Now I ask that you do the same for me.

"If you have any questions, Geralt can answer them as well as I can.

Sincerely,

Vesemir of Kaer Morhen."

I place the letter down, filled with equal parts excitement and dread. The Wild Hunt! Phantom Riders! How long had I hoped to abandon the ways of Velen's Crookback Bog, and instead follow my own dreams! And now Vesemir, a man I had feared for years, had asked me to do just that to pay my debt to him.

But then… He also asked me to face down those same forces. The Ladies have always been allies with the Wild Hunt. And now the Wild Hunt has its eyes upon the Witchers. There is no way a handful of monster slayers could defeat Phantom Riders from beyond his world!

Could they?

And what if they could? What did that mean for me? Was I an ally? A servant? A slave?

No, Witchers travel too much, and face too much danger to keep slaves and servants.

But I am a debtor. Vesemir is right about that. Perhaps I should pay my debt and go my own way.

But that would mean leaving my livelihood behind. My forge, Niellen, Susa's grave. Can I really leave all of it?

"Dad! Dad! Miss Glenna is bringing by a whole pot! Says she can't sell it, and she can't eat it all by her lonesome since her husband isn't back yet! Dad!"

"I heard you the first time, Haddy. Now why don't you and Juli go wash up for dinner and set the table. We will be having Miss Glenna with us tonight it seems."

"Yay!" Juli cries out. She always did like Glenna. I hope Kris returns from his trip to Crow's Perch soon enough.

* * *

 **A/N: I am ALIVE!**

 **So, Wild at Heart begins, and the first letter is delivered. Hopefully the hints of what I have planned here make some measure of sense. I am trying my best to stick within the confines of the story, but let's face it, the kid in Blackbough always seemed like a curious kid. As far as Hanna actually being dead, I am honestly undecided. The game says she's dead, and you supposedly find her body, except that the corpse has trousers on and very short hair (you can see the ears). Seems like an oversight to have Hanna's corpse have a male avatar.**

 **Please read, review and enjoy!**


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